


The Red God is Owed Three

by tempisfugit



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempisfugit/pseuds/tempisfugit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the Tale of the Three Brothers from Harry Potter: "One died for power, one died for love, one greeted death as an old friend"  (two sets of Starks, three Lannisters, and three Targaryens)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red God is Owed Three

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first real fanfiction! Written for makeitfly's fabulous prompt over at the [ASOIAF Kinkmeme](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/7193.html?thread=4244249#t4244249)

 

Death comes for him in a fiery audience hall, tendrils of smoke curling around his chained form. And as his father burns, as he reaches desperately for his sword, as his life’s breath is slowly choked away, he sees her lips in the flames, sees her dark hair in the charred wood, sees her grey eyes in the smoke, and his tears are salty trails on his cheeks as he mourns the sister he shall never see again. And, with a wordless whimper, the Stranger takes Brandon for his own.

Death comes for him on a brilliant, sunny day; the type of day that makes one think that winter will never come. He hears the angry rumbling of the crowd, he hears his daughter’s cries, he hears Cersei’s panicked commands, he hears the boy king’s cruel words, and he thinks of his simple, peaceful life at Winterfell. _The things I do for love. The things they do for power._ And, with one fell stroke, the Stranger takes Ned for his own.

Death comes for him in the depths of winter, cold hands meeting cold hands as he stands guard outside the cave. His face turns up in a smile as he sees his old friend, for they killed him once before, and what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger. And, with a frozen embrace, the Stranger takes Benjen for his own.

\---------

Death comes for her at the hands of a broken, burned dog. And, as the mountain crumbles around her, as he strides forward and clasps her throat, she thinks wryly that she should not have been so quick to blame the Imp, that she should have tried to rein Joff in, that _if only_ she had been born a man, this would not – could not – have happened. She sees a flash of gold in the crowd and looks into a pair of green eyes, identical to her own but for their sadness, and she frowns, her eyes growing cold as her last breath leaves her body. And so the Stranger takes Cersei for his own.

Death comes for him reluctantly, sadly, but they must leave as they entered, and this cursed golden-crowned family will be united in death as they never could in life. The crowd roars, and he turns away, pulling his cloak tightly around him and walking back towards the wench. He does not see the knife, does not see the man who wields it, only hears the mocking shouts of “Kingslayer,” and as his blood stains his cloak, he wishes the world knew that, everything he did, he did for love. And so the Stranger takes Jaime for his own.

Death comes for him many years later, as he steps into a hot bath to ease the aching in his legs. Tysha, lovely, wonderful, slender Tysha calls from the next room, and he thinks of how beautiful she still is, despite her sagging breasts, her wrinkled eyes, her greying hair. He takes another deep sip of Arbor gold, feeling how the pain leaves his body, how his heart begins to slow, and Tyrion thanks the Stranger for showing him mercy at long last, striding forward on steady legs to greet him as his own.

\---------

Death comes for him in the waters of the Trident as the Baratheon youth, with hatred in his eyes, swings his hammer like the Smith reborn. The river rushes around him, and he sees sadness on her strong face and wishes that he had more time, time to explain his love for the headstrong wolf, time to explain - _the Dragon must have three heads_ \- time to say farewell to them all. But there is no more time, and the rubies spill from his chest like sand in an hourglass as his blood mixes with the muddy water. And so the Stranger takes Rhaeger for his own.

Death comes for him with mocks and japes: a horse and cart for a throne, savages to rule over, and molten gold for a crown. The steam and smoke rise from his head as the gold trickles down his face, mixing with his salty tears, and for one moment he believes that he truly _is_ the dragon, reborn amidst smoke and salt, as he falls slowly to the hard ground. And so the Stranger takes Viserys for his own.

Death comes for her in an oaken cask, with words of sorrow, with exotic spices and scents, but she does not follow willingly. Death comes for her on a pale mare in the Dothraki Sea, as a mummer’s dragon flanked by stone soldiers wearing golden cloaks, with an icy hand and burning blue eyes, but she turns her back. She grows old, her children ranging through the skies, and, as she sees Death approach, she calls Drogon to her. _Only fire can kill the dragon_ , she thinks, as she steps into the flames. And so Dany takes the Stranger for her own.

\---------

Death comes for her with the scent of winter roses on the air. _Promise me_ , she whispers, thinking not of the babe in her arms but the lover lost, _promise me Ned,_ and she turns towards her brother who nods, clasping her bloody hand in his. She tries to say his name aloud – _Rhaegar_ – and she hears the pounding of hooves, the crashing of lances, the sad melody of his harp, and she smiles. And so the Stranger takes Lyanna for his own.

Death comes for her in the guise of a flattering mockingbird with dreams of power and glory. Her hair, heavy with dye, is piled atop her head like some strange crown, and she scrubs away the memories of the bruises, of golden-haired monsters, of heads falling – falling, falling, falling – of siblings lost forever, as she lingers under the water. And so the Stranger takes Sansa Stark for his own, leaving a cunning bastard in his wake.

Death does not come for her; she comes for him, needle in hand, her face changing – young, round, and smiling, now old and wizened, now dusky and scarred. But he has many faces too: grey eyes lined with honesty and sadness, scratched and bloody with hair of fire and eyes of deepest blue, tanned and hardened with honest eyes and thick black hair. She drops her weapon and grabs his hand fiercely in hers, vengeance coursing through her veins. And so a Man and No One take each other for their own.

  



End file.
